


because my angel eyes ain't here

by anopendoor



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: ...but hopeful?, 1960s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Ben is in an unhappy marriage, Club Owner Ben, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, His wife is unfaithful, Jazz Singer Rey, Mild dom Ben, Smut, Star-crossed, Unprotected Sex, ben is married, slight Breeding Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anopendoor/pseuds/anopendoor
Summary: Ben Solo had everything. Most men would dream to have his life. He owned the hottest club in Chicago, was married to an heiress, and could get anything he wanted with the snap of his fingers.Except, not everything is as it seems, and there is one thing Ben Solo wants that he can't just snap his fingers and get.Angels don't come when beckoned. They're radiant and virtuous, and above all else: unattainable.Ben didn't think he deserved one anyway.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 30
Kudos: 116
Collections: Force Dyad Celebration!





	because my angel eyes ain't here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RebelJediPrincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelJediPrincess/gifts).



> My contribution to the Force Dyad Challenge by @myjedilife
> 
> This work is dedicated to @RebelJediPrincess and based on their wonderful prompt:
> 
> **Ben is in an unhappy marriage. Rey is the new singer in his club. Ben's wife cheats on him, he is faithful. However, he is falling in love with Rey. How long will true love be denied?**
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, though I did amp up the angst quiiite a bit 🥺I'm sorry.
> 
> Set in the 1960's - I started watching a bunch of Mad Men for inspiration and now sort of want to delve more into 1960's Reylo 🤔. Lotsss of potential for badass woman power Rey kicking ass in the 60's and telling Ben where he can stick it 👀. I apologize for any inaccuracies!
> 
> The song Rey sings is Angel Eyes - version by Ella Fitzgerald (if you want to listen on repeat and get all the feels like I did while writing this).

The slammed door was ignored by most patrons, muffled by the blaring harmony of the brass band.

Ben Solo looked like he was ready to commit murder.

His fists pounded on top of the bar, the black onyx ring at his pinky banged against the wood, grating against his wedding band.

“All good, Boss?” Poe, his best bartender, sidled over and leaned against the bar. He placed a crystal tumbler in front of him. The scotch was poured neat. The amber liquid swirled against the etched panes of glass.

Ben downed the glass in one swallow. When he set it down, Poe was there, in an instant, with the bottle to pour him another.

“How’s it lookin’?” Ben grumbled as he surveyed the crowd. It was a Thursday night, not one of their busier days, but the audience was fuller than usual.

Poe’s eyebrow raised. “Good, they’re all here for _her_.”

At the bartender’s words, Ben’s gaze drifted over to the stage. He felt his breath grow shallower when his eyes landed on her.

She was a sparkling star that lit up the entire room. It did not take much to notice her.

_Need I say that my love’s misspent._

She sang with a deep alto cadence. The smooth, lilting tone of her voice wafted throughout the room, lulling the crowd into her intoxicating embrace.

Ben knew when she first walked into his club that she would be a knockout at the Millennium, and he wasn’t wrong.

She had the voice, she had an allure, and she was a beauty.

Ben watched, along with the rapt audience, as she swayed with the rhythm of the trumpet solo. The euphonic melodies resounded in the room from the critically acclaimed musician: Finn Storm of Detroit.

“Snoke come in this week?” Ben asked, his eyes still on the stage.

The bartender nodded in affirmation as he threw a cube of ice into Ben’s empty glass and made it on the rocks. He poured heavier.

“Was here yesterday,” said Poe. “He seemed intrigued by the new act and the boom in business.”

Ben nodded, his hand tightening on his glass. He expected as much. He knew Snoke to see an investment and want to make the most out of it.

Something about the thought made his hand clutch his glass even tighter.

Ben had almost forgotten why he’d come to the club so pissed in the first place.

When he walked into his penthouse apartment, he almost couldn’t leave it fast enough. He wasn’t expecting his wife to be there. The last he’d heard, she’d been in the Swiss Alps with the Prince of Luxembourg.

Yet another reminder of how much of a sham their marriage truly was.

Bazine Netal, an heiress of Lucky Strike—the only cigarette patrons were allowed to smoke at The Millennium because of it—and now the socialite of Chicago’s elite was the most sought-after bird in the Southeast.

When Ben had first met her, Bazine had been eighteen and looking for an escape from the usual, straight-laced suitors that lined up at her feet the moment she was of age. It had been Snoke, who forged the connection, who told Ben to be his rugged, yet charming self.

The goal was, after all, to use her fortune to back up Snoke’s growing empire.

Except, at the time, Ben hadn’t had known that. He thought he was coming up in the ranks, making a name for himself with the club his father had left him. He had a legacy as well, but it by no means surpassed that of a nationwide product that no one could get enough off.

When he first met Bazine, he was captivated by her beauty, at the way she batted her eyelashes at him with interest. She thought, for a man circulating the same circles as she, that he was the most unusual scoundrel compared to the rest.

Ben had thought it was love. The Millennium exploded, and every socialite was there from Thursday to Sunday. When Gloria Vanderbilt showed up, they were the talk of the city. There was a line around the block of foolish souls waiting to catch a glimpse of the red velvet walls and black leather couches. They all wanted to rub elbows with the muckamucks of the greatest city in the Midwest. They wanted to ogle the prettiest talent and dance to the brass band coming straight down from Detroit. The exclusivity of the club rose to only the highest elite, and Ben had become a self-proclaimed millionaire.

With the help of his ever-devoted mentor and benefactor, Leonard Snoke of First Order Empire, of course.

What had started out as an almost stars-in-the-eyes sort of wonder for the world of the one percent had turned into a sordid reality of debauchery, lies, scandals, and above all else, infidelity.

The first time Ben caught his thought-to-be friend and business partner, Armitage Hux, stumbling out of his bedroom with his pants down his ankles and his shirt mussed in disarray, he almost killed the man.

When Bazine told him that she might be his wife in title, but her heart would never truly be his, the starry night he'd believed to be his comeuppance in life had shattered.

He was forever a pawn in their games, an integral but hardly desired piece to the puzzle.

Ben took a long sip of his chilled scotch.

_Have fun, you happy people._

She had such a delicate hand, he noticed. The way it barely grazed the side of the microphone as her ruby red lips sang lowly into the metal amplifier. The way she swayed to the slow melody of the song in her shimmering silver dress that hugged her every curve.

Yes, he knew why there had been a rise in attendance at the Millenium this week.

Out of everything in his life, there was no light, no spark. Yet, he could tell that something inside of him was desperate to catch flame every time he saw her.

His head turned slightly so that Poe could hear him. “I’ll probably stay for a while. Don’t worry about closing up tonight.”

“You got it, Boss.”

_Excuse me while I disappear_.

Her eyes flicked to the bar and, like a magnet, found his. His breath pressed out of his chest as he held her stare. Every night he would catch her golden-green eyes.

Every night was harder to look away.

She caught the city under her spell and him along with it.

-

“You good, Sunshine?” Finn asked as he set his trumpet inside his case. “You’ll take a taxi, alright?” He knew she lived quite away from the city center. Finn was a good friend. It was unfortunate that he could not escort her himself.

“I’ll be alright, thanks.” Rey smiled at her friend. Finn pecked her on the cheek before he and the rest of the band headed out for the night.

It was a Thursday, and the club didn’t stay open past ten on a weekday.

The only ones left are she and Poe, who was in the process of wiping the bar down—and the boss.

Ben Solo.

When she first sang for him over a week ago, she didn't expect to feel that spark of connection to him.

She didn't expect to see that same desire she felt reflected in his own eyes every time she sang to him thereafter.

But he was the boss, and he was married. It would never work.

It didn’t stop Rey from singing every love song right to him, though.

He was standing at the bar, and she overheard him dismiss Poe for the night.

Rey grabbed her coat. Maybe Poe would wait with her for her taxi to arrive.

“Just one minute, Rey.” His voice was commandingly soft, and it made her stop in her tracks.

Her breath heaved in her lungs before she turned to him. “Yes, Sir?” She asked, and when she looked at him, she saw the look just before it vanished. She saw the way his eyes sunk as they traveled from her face and down to her simple Mary Jane heels.

Mr. Solo coughed as he straightened. He kept his eyes trained on the bar, not looking at her. If she hadn’t caught him, she wouldn’t have believed he'd looked at her in the first place. He pulled out a small tin from his jacket pocket. She watched with envious eyes as his lips curled around the cigarette. Lucky Strike, of course.

“It’s late. Do you have a chaperone—er, someone to accompany you home?” He sounded uncomfortable as he asked the question. He flicked his lighter, igniting the flame, maybe as a distraction, or maybe as a means of something to do while he waited for her answer.

A small part of her thought it was endearing.

“I was going to take a taxi, Sir. I don’t—there’s no one accompanying me.” For whatever reason, she wanted to clarify this to him. She wanted him to know that there was no one. She wanted him to know that she was alone.

He stiffened at her words. Smoke blew from his mouth, and she yearned to taste it. “I see.”

Rey nodded assuredly. “It’s alright, I have been just fine making it home every night.”

He didn’t seem satisfied with that. “You shouldn’t be traveling on your own when it’s this late.”

His uninvited concern made annoyance grow in her belly.

“I drove here. I can escort you.”

Rey’s eyes widened. “That would be a most inappropriate gesture, Sir. Given our status.”

“I’m your boss. I’m allowed to keep an eye on my employees while they’re in my charge.”

She didn’t know why the word ‘employee’ stung her so.

Rey squared her shoulders, and her chin jutted up in defiance. “I’m off duty, Sir.” Her hard-casted glare seemed to aggravate him more.

“I’m trying to do a good thing here,” he growled. “Maybe you should have gone with one of your compatriots then if the idea of my offer offends you so much.”

“I think my rejection of your offer offends _you._ ” Rey had quite the tongue on her, and she knew how to hold her own. “Besides, you aren’t usually here still at closing. Why are you?”

He looked visibly perturbed by her question. It was personal and not usually something Rey would ever do. _Especially_ to the man paying her. Except, she was feeling a sort of boldness she never felt before.

She assumed he would reprimand her. Instead, he answered. “I’m not too keen on going home just yet. Left after a sort of—disagreement of principles.”

He was talking about his wife. Rey heard the rumors about their marriage. People at the club whispered about the infamous Bazine Netal. She was like American royalty.

Rey had never envied a woman more.

Not because of her wealth, fame, or fortune—well, perhaps her fortune of a husband—

“I apologize. It was rude of me to pry.”

His hand lifted to wave her apology away. “It doesn’t matter. Maybe she’s long gone by now, on a plane to Paris if I can be so lucky.” He still had his scotch glass in front of him. She watched, silently, as he leaned over the bar and poured himself another drink.

It pained her to see him like this, but she was desperate to know.

“Could you not just end it?” She let the words spill out of her quickly. Maybe it was naïve of her to ask. Maybe he would think her a child for asking. He would scoff at her. He would tell her those were musings of a girl. Even though she would be twenty-one in two months…

He did laugh like she expected he would. It was a withheld sort of reaction because his expression held no humor.

“Not unless I want _everything_ I’ve built to be taken away from me.” He muttered.

Rey assumed it was as she expected. It was some grown-up discussion that she—as a woman untied to anyone—wouldn’t understand.

“If there was something I could do—” She didn't know what she was alluding to, but she stopped herself from saying anything else. What had she been trying to say? What was she trying to get?

She wanted the boss. She needed to stop denying it to herself.

His eyes flicked over to her apprehensively. She felt self-conscious under his studied gaze. He looked perplexed, but there was an underlying hunger that she could detect—if only because he was all she could ever think about, ever focus on over the course of her stay at The Millennium.

She knew the way he looked at her.

He looked back down at his glass as he swirled the auburn liquid around before he stubbed the rest of the cigarette into a nearby ashtray.

“Will you sing for me?”

His voice was quiet, hardly above a murmur. Rey almost thought she imagined it.

When she didn’t respond, he went on still in a whisper. “It’s just us now.”

There was a heat in his eyes that she felt scorch across her skin. She wondered if he could see it in her own eyes—how she wanted more of it.

Rey dropped her coat on the lounge chair beside her. She went to pull her gloves from her hands, but he stopped her.

“Leave those.” He commanded her again, and the hardened tone of it made her knees weak.

With slow and measured steps, she made her way back to the stage where the microphone still stood, a glimmering beacon under the dim lights.

“Do you have a request?” She asked into the amplifier.

He had turned from the bar, and his elbows rested against it. He looked broad. Wider than she thought possible. The fabric of his starched button-down pulled taut against his chest. The buttons looked to be holding on within an inch of their life.

He shook his head at her in a way that had her thighs clench. Her gloved grip on the steel pole tightened.

_I try to think that love’s not around_.

Her voice warbled throughout the empty room. The echo of sound without music added a haunting element to the melodic ballad.

When she looked over at him, she was struck by the intensity of his stare. Her hand clutched the pearls at her neck.

_But it’s uncomfortably near_.

As she sang, her eyes never left his. She wondered if he knew. Could he see how much she desired him?

She wondered if he would ever act on it.

Without the band, Rey was able to set the pace of the song. She drew out the notes of varying syllables. There was a sort of freedom to singing this way. She wanted this moment to last as long as possible.

_Angel eyes, that old devil sent._

She watched as he pushed himself off the bar, drink still in hand, and walked languidly to one of the plush leather couches right in front of the stage. Her eyes trailed his every move as he set his glass down on the side table before turning back to face her fully.

She expected him to sit down then and watch her as she sang to him, but instead, he slowly walked up the few steps to the stage.

_Order anything you see_.

His footsteps echoed against the wood hollow of the stage, each sound a snap she felt within her core. When he stood behind her, she was so tempted to turn and face him, but she continued to sing. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at the feel of his presence.

Her breath caught on a word when she felt his own graze over her shoulder.

God, she wanted him to touch her. She prayed he would.

First, she felt the heat of his palm as it rested against her hip. Her eyes fluttered shut as the other slid around her waist. She could feel his heat against her back as he gently pressed her against the hard planes of his chest.

_Pardon me, but I got to run._

She could smell the liquor on his breath. It was an intoxicating mixture of the smoke, scotch, and him. She allowed herself to lean back against him. When she sang a long drawn out note, her mouth remained shaped in that little ‘o’ when she felt him press his lips to the skin at her shoulder.

_That fact’s uncommonly clear._

His kiss was gentle, hardly a graze. She wished he would use his teeth.

His hands, however, felt desperate as they pulled against the taut satin around her waist. The heat of his palms seared through the fabric. His lips moved up the column of her neck. Each touch had her that much more desperate to sing the final lines right into his mouth.

He was so close.

_And why my angel eyes ain’t here._

She let her head fall back against his shoulder, exposing as much skin as she could to him.

At the invitation, his hands moved from her hips. They wound around her waist and up her belly. Her back arched when she felt his fingertips graze her breasts before one hand came up to pull against her shoulder. The other wrapped lightly around her throat. She could feel the vibrations of her voice against his palm. The drawn-out notes were a long and pulsing rhythm.

_Excuse me—while I disappear._

A moan escaped her as she breathily sang the final lines to the song. Her head tilted back to see his towering frame above her. His eyes were dark as they looked into hers. They pleaded with her.

They said, _don’t go just yet_ and i _t’s only us now…_

Her eyes fluttered shut when he slowly lowered his face closer to hers. She was expecting his lips to touch hers. Her eyes jolted open when his mouth wrapped around her own. His tongue was impatient to wait but instead forcefully pushed its way inside her surprised mouth. His hands turned her slightly so that she could face him. Her hand was a vice grip on her shoulder as she signed into his kiss.

His hand was still wrapped around her neck when he pulled away. She felt his thumb as it grazed the skin beneath her jaw in slow, agonizing sweeps.

He stared at her, and he looked lost almost, but so was she. There were no other eyes in all of Chicago that she wanted to sing to. No other face that she wanted to gaze at, and see that same look reflected into her own.

“Are you my angel?” He whispered dazedly. His grip on her still and secure, as if he thought she would float away if he didn’t hold her close.

She couldn't answer. Instead, she crashed her lips against his once more. Her hands came up to wrap around his shoulders as best she could. The passion of their kiss was titillating as his towering frame leaned over her, pushing her back into an elegant arch. His hands held her steady, so if her knees were to buckle, she would not need them. 

Rey was almost completely horizontal with the stage when she gasped as she felt one of his arms looping around her backside as he scooped her up.

He walked slowly down the steps before settling in the plush leather couch just there. He set her in his lap, and then his hands were suddenly all over her. They ran against the fabric of her dress, up her neck, over her breasts again…and _again_. She attacked his mouth with as much fervor as she knew how. The taste of him was intoxicating.

When his hand grazed the zipper at her back and slowly pulled down, she wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him as close to her as she could. The rumble of the zipper against her spine had her arching her back, and she pressed her breasts against him, which earned a low groan from him against her lips.

She shivered as his fingers curled into the revealed opening at her back, and he slowly— _slowly_ —pulled it apart.

Rey stood then, unable to take it anymore.

His eyes snapped to hers in an instant, and he looked confused. His hands reached out to her as they followed her body when she moved. They stayed there, unsure as to why she was no longer within their grasp.

She never took her eyes away from him as her gloved hands slowly reached up to the straps of her dress and gently eased them off her shoulders.

He looked almost rabid, his hair in wild disarray around his face. His shoulders hunched slightly like he was ready to pounce, or ready to trap her in his embrace again. He had a look on his face that said once he had her, he would make sure she could never escape.

He stared fixedly when she revealed her pert, dusty pink nipples to him. She watched as his lips parted slightly so he could draw in a breath.

She felt emboldened under his stare. She felt desired. No man had ever looked at her this way.

Yes, there was hunger in Ben Solo’s eyes, that same primal desire most men have when they see a naked woman, but there was something else too. Something close to reverence.

Rey pushed the dress past her hips and once there, the fabric fell gracelessly to the floor at her feet. She was left in only her white elbow-length gloves, her faux pearl necklace, and black lace panties beneath a mismatched garter belt that kept her nylons clipped up to her thighs.

It was not the sexiest look. Rey knew that a matching set was much more alluring. It was something she had yet to afford with her feeble earnings as a jazz singer. It was something she was sure he was used to seeing from his wif—

She stopped that thought right in its tracks, but a cold vice had wrapped itself around her heart.

“Come here.” He murmured, and it pulled her away from those unwelcome thoughts. His arm that was resting on the edge of the sofa lifted and his fingers nudged forward, beckoning her.

Rey stepped out of her dress. Her eyes locked on his as she went to stand between his spread legs.

His eyes broke away from hers as they traveled down the length of her body. “You’re fucking beautiful.” He said deeply, salaciously. His gaze stopped at the crux between her legs. She was tempted to rub her thighs together for him, but she stood completely still.

She lifted a gloved arm slowly before her other hand pinched the tip of her fingertips, and she unhurriedly slid the glove off her hand.

The way he exhaled, one would think she’d just bared her cunt to him with her legs spread wide.

When she lowered herself down to straddle his lap, her knees pressed into the soft leather beneath, she took the second glove off daintily and dropped it between them.

His hands stayed where they were. He didn’t dare touch her yet, for some reason. When she settled down lower and pressed the heat of her center against him, she met his thick hardness. A gasp fell from her lips as she nestled against him.

It was then that his hands sprung to action and clutched at her thighs. He rubbed his palms up and down her legs, snagging against the nylons hugging her skin.

She settled against his hard cock as her hips rubbed roughly against him. The desire that had been simmering since she first walked onto that stage and crooned to him was moving wild and rampant.

Rey gasped when she felt his hips thrust up against her core. He pressed against the dampness she released, and she squirmed around his bulge.

“Are you desperate, baby?” He growled as she dragged her cunt along the length of him. She shivered when the tip pressed against her clit.

She made a mewling sound, unable to form words, as the sensations shot up and down her spine.

“Take my cock out.” He demanded, and his chin jutted down to his slacks.

It happened in a flurry of movement. Rey’s hands shot down to the fastening of his trousers. Her fingers fumbled with the button, but she was able to hastily get him unzipped.

There was a hunger within her, taking control of her body, demanding she take what she wanted.

What she’d wanted from the start.

He groaned and dropped his head back against the couch when he felt her hand wrap around him and stroke.

She looked down at the head of his cock, at the precum that had already begun to leak from him.

God, she was ready for him. She wanted him _now._

“Sir, please.” She whispered, and it made his head instantly snap up.

It must have been the magic words because the urgency between them aligned with a crack.

Ben’s hands gripped her hips roughly, pulling her up onto her knees, so she kneeled above him. The tip of his cock pressed against the lace covering her slit. One hand moved between them, and his fingers hooked deftly underneath the fabric as he felt her wetness there.

“This for me?” He grumbled low as his fingers scissored inside her folds. He drew his hand away from her and held it up, rubbing the wetness between his fingers. His eyes flicked to his glistening digits. “ _Fuck_ , I have to have you.” He murmured, and then he was a blur of movement.

His lips captured hers in a searing kiss, which she energetically reciprocated. His tongue stroked against hers as his fingers shoved the lace gusset of her panties aside. Without any more preamble, he pulled her onto his cock in one stroke.

Rey gasped into his mouth at the immediate stretch. His hands clutched her hips in a vice grip. The sound that ripped out of his throat came from deep, _deep_ within. It was sinful, and it had her cunt clenching around him.

“Jesus, I knew you would feel this way. Knew you’d be perfect.” He pulled her up almost entirely off the length of his cock before he slammed her back down. A strangled cry escaped her.

“Sir—”

“Ben, my name is Ben.” He grated out as he started to move her in a rhythm on top of him. “Call me Ben, Sweetheart…”

The tip of his cock hit a spot deep within her, and she swore she saw stars behind her eyes. “Ben.” She moaned as her head fell back. She felt him lean forward and his lips attached to her collarbone. He nipped her _hard,_ and it made her squeeze around him once more.

“Fuck, Sweetheart, your fucking pussy is a God-damn dream.” One arm moved up to her neck and he used the leverage of it to push her down against his cock with even more force than before.

She never had a cock so deep inside her like this. She’d never been so full before.

His other hand brushed down to between her legs, where he began to strum against the sensitive nub there. The sensation was almost unbearable.

Her hips started to thrust onto him as she tried to alleviate the ache.

Ben looked up at her then with half-closed eyes. “Yes,” he breathed. “I can feel you, baby, I want you to come undone around my cock. You’re gonna shoot across the sky like a God-damn star, baby.” His thrusts had begun to turn disjointed and wilder. “I’m gonna fill your little cunt with all my fucking come. You’re _mine_. You’re my angel…”

Rey gasped above him as she felt every muscle in her abdomen pull taut. “I’m yours.” She breathed, and the thought of it was what pushed her over. Her pussy fluttered in quick pulses before she clamped around him as hard as her body would allow. Rey mewled as her pussy tried to pull him as deep as possible inside of her.

She felt him shudder beneath her. Within her vice grip, she felt the subtle pulse of his spend coating her insides. He held her down flush against him, his cock shoved as deep as it would go.

They both were panting heavily, trying to catch their breaths. Ben’s hands didn’t move from where they held her securely against him.

Rey felt her body go boneless against his chest. She rested her head on his shoulder. Her nose turned into his neck as she breathed him in. Every part of her was surrounded, was _filled_ with him. She imagined this was what Heaven must feel like.

It felt like forever, but when Ben moved both his hands back to her hips to slowly lift her off of him, his spend falling out of her and pooling in a crease in his trousers, she felt disconnected as she stared down at it. He pressed his hand against her, causing her to jolt when he helped her off him slowly, and his finger pulled the gusset of her panties back over her sensitive folds. She felt the wetness pool there. The evidence of their coupling that felt much too short. 

She sat perched on his lap. Watched with a blank expression as he tucked himself back into his pants. His pristine and crisp dress shirt was wrinkled at the bottom, but once his trousers were secure once more, aside from the small darkening stain of his semen, he looked back to his impeccable self.

His eyes stared into her shoulder while his hand trailed up her still naked torso before it cradled her neck.

“Get dressed.” He said quietly before his hand fell away from her.

Her nod was minute as she slowly lifted herself off of him. Her legs felt wobbly as she bent down to pick up her dress. Once stepped into it, she wiggled the straps back up her shoulders with slow and heavy fingers.

As she reached behind her back, feeling for the zipper, she watched as he rose from the couch, straightening his suit jacket. In a silent command, he nudged her shoulder for her to turn around.

Rey’s breath remained shallow as she felt the material hug her skin as his hand drew the zipper up her back. She could feel his breath puff against her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered closed as she shivered.

“I’ll take you home.” He said with an almost emotionless indifference. Rey felt that similar coldness spread throughout her again.

With the heady cloud lifted, the stark reality felt like a slap across the face. Honestly, it was foolish of her to have any expectations from this. She let her desire overcloud her judgment.

She let her emotions allow her to believe that for five minutes—for five seconds—she was just his.

They were all they needed.

But her surroundings focus on the clarity that mocks her. The red velvet walls, the sea of black leather, The Millennium.

He’d even said it before, he would never leave his wife. Not if he wanted to have all of this.

And she’d offered him whatever she could give him, without a second thought.

But now she saw her naivety loud and clear.

She was nobody.

An angel for a moment, only to disappear.

-

He waited for her to start walking towards the exit. The moments of euphoria fell away the moment he stood from the leather sofa.

She was unnervingly quiet. He wanted to touch her, soothe her, but his body wouldn’t move to accommodate that want.

Because he shouldn’t have done this. Because now— _now—_ he knew what heaven tasted like.

But she would always be just out of reach. No matter how many times he could taste her lips or her cunt. He would never be able to have her the way he truly wanted. He wouldn’t be able to have all of her.

She would never be his.

He watched with suffering eyes as she leaned over to grab her coat. Her gloves lay crumpled on the couch. She grabbed those too and stuffed them into her coat pocket.

She wouldn’t look at him.

She started to walk towards the door with her coat draped over one arm. He watched her curls bounce as she rushed across the room.

“Rey.” He said, loud enough for her to hear him. He didn’t know why he did it, or what he hoped to accomplish by calling her name. He just wished the spell didn’t have to break.

She stopped though, but she didn’t turn around.

His legs carried him to her, but he stopped far enough so that they weren’t touching, but close enough that she would feel his presence.

There was a string of things he wanted to say. The jumble of words that would only make their reality feel that much more compromising. There were promises he wanted to make her that would only hurt her more. He knew this.

He was selfish in almost every facet of his life. That’s how he became who he was.

In his greediness, he wanted to ask her to join him—to be his. If he wanted to, he could take her, ruin her for the rest of society, keep her at his side always.

But she was an angel— _his_ angel. She was forever out of reach, and it would be wrongful of him to shackle her to his own miserable life.

They stood there in silence. She was waiting for him to say something. He had called out to her after all.

But no words left his lips. Instead, he took a step back, a signal for her to continue to the door.

Her heels echoed throughout the empty club as she sped to the exit.

Ben cast one look back at the dim-lit room. The lights on the stage were still on, so he walked to the bar, where the switchboard sat under the counter, and flicked the lights off.

When he followed her out into the winter night, a lone seed of doubt wiggled its way into the back of his subconscious.

What was all of this really worth, anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> I am on [twitter](https://twitter.com/anopendoor3)


End file.
